


Roleplayer

by HeidiBug731



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiBug731/pseuds/HeidiBug731
Summary: Mithra Lavellan is a grad student at the University of Orlais, seeking to recover the lost history of her people. Solas is hedge mage, recently abandoning his solitary lifestyle to seek answers of his own. They come together in Varric’s tabletop roleplay campaign, where the events of their romance from Inquisition have an odd parallel with the modern world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a thought that the majority of the Solas romance is basically Lavellan initiating something and Solas failing his will save. And that turned into some posts on my Tumblr, and now it's this fic. I may have gotten a bit carried away.  
> 

If her tall beautiful ears don't give her away, the vallaslin on her face certainly does: elven, Dalish.

Her chocolate eyes meet his, and she waves at him from the checkout line. He smiles and joins her, blocking out the stares and whispers from the humans around them. Perhaps it was naive of him to think after their first term at the University of Orlais the humans would have gotten over the token elves.

She gives him an enthusiastic one-armed hug. “It's so good to finally be meeting you properly.”

“It is,” he agrees as he pulls back. “Strange we haven't done so before now.”

“We've passed each other enough times in the Magical Studies building, you'd think we would have.”

They move up in the line and place their orders at the campus bagel sandwich restaurant. She orders something with turkey and pesto on an everything bagel. He goes for smoked salmon on pumpernickel.

“So how do you know Varric?” she asks as they wait.

“We were sponsored together. Dr Pentaghast scheduled our campus visits on the same day to lighten her schedule.”

She gives a laugh. “That sounds like her.”

He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to come off crass. “I heard your application was accepted late.”

She shakes her head. “No, my application was sent on time. I just couldn't choose an area of study. That's why my sponsorship was late.”

He cocks his head. “What were you having trouble deciding between?”

She drops her gaze to the floor. “Oh… so much...”

Their orders are ready. They take their wrapped sandwiches to a tall table where they sit and eat.

“I really was interested,” he tells her.

She chews slowly, like she isn't certain if she should share. “Well… I'm interested in magical practices with origins that have been attributed elsewhere but which certain evidence suggest may have originated with elves.”

“A worthy pursuit,” he says, hoping his approval comes through in his voice. “Difficult to research, I'd imagine.”

She nods. “Especially when so much of our history has been lost.” She glances around to make sure no one's eaves dropping on them and leans toward him so she can drop her voice. “And we have to rely on what was recorded by human historians.”

He nods. He's well aware of the struggle. “So what specific area did you choose?”

“Chantry magical practices.”

His eyebrows shoot upward. “Quite controversial.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I imagine that's why I was chosen over other applicants. Dr Pentaghast liked the idea, said that we must pursue the truth no matter how unpopular.” She sighs. “But it hasn't been easy to research. I may have to change my thesis.”

“I wish I could help,” he says.

“What about you?” she asks. “What are you studying?”

“The veil and it's disruptive properties in regards to harmonic vibrations.”

She blinks and stares at him. “You mean… what does that mean?”

“I mean, both reality and the fade contain harmonic properties and the veil acts as a sound barrier between the two.”

“Interesting.” She continues to stare at him, then shakes her head. “I've never head of such a thing.”

“It's a personal theory.”

“Have you… had much success in researching?”

“Some. Not as much as I would prefer.” He looks down at his watch. “We should probably start walking.”

They throw their sandwich wrappers away and leave the building to head down the campus sidewalks toward the university apartments. They each carry a coffee cup in their hand.

“How did you meet Varric?” Solas asks.

She laughs. “He came up to me my first day, said he wanted to meet the 'other elf,' and then… I don't know. He just kept talking, and… at some point we were friends.”

Solas chuckles. “That is how Varric makes most of his friends, I imagine.”

“So why did you agree to this whole… romance campaign?”

“I owe Varric a favor. You?”

“He's my friend,” she says. “I figured it didn't hurt to help him with his thesis, especially when I'm getting nowhere with mine.” She sighs.

He stares at her. There's a soft beauty to the way her dark hair lays against her olive skin. All those days passing her in the hall… He's not sure when exactly he started seeing past the vallaslin or what had made him want to get to know her. And then he'd felt like too much of an awkward idiot to finally say hello after he'd put it off for so long.

She notices him looking at her, and he averts his eyes.

“You know,” she says, “You can tell a lot about a person by the type of coffee they drink.”

He laughs. “Oh, really? And have you learned this from personal observation or an infograph on the internet?”

“A bit of both,” she admits. “One can use the infograph as a base and draw one's own conclusions.”

“Very well, I'm intrigued. What does your coffee of choice say about you?”

“It's espresso,” she tells him. “It means I'm friendly, adaptive, and I like the taste of coffee.”

“I see.” He studies her with his eyes. “The Dalish don't make coffee, which means you've picked up a taste for it during your studies. Adaptive indeed.”

“And what did you order?” she asks.

He smiles. “It's hot chocolate.”

She laughs.

“So what do your keen observational skills have to say about my drink of choice?”

She ponders for a moment. “You like what you like and don't apologize for it. And you… take joy in the simple things others may overlook… And you don't like the taste of coffee. Does that sound accurate?”

It does, actually. “I...” He slows in his walk until coming to a stop. She stops with him, and he shakes his head. “You are not what I expected.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. “What did you expect?”

“I've…” He looks away from her, hoping this won't come out as bad as it sounds in his mind. “Not had the most pleasant encounters with the Dalish.”

Her smile drops, and his heart falls into his stomach. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I didn't mean to offend,” he tires. “I just… most Dalish would not have left their clans to study at university, for example.”

The hurt dies from her eyes, but she chews on her lip. “That is… true.” Then she looks at him directly, her face full of determination. “I choose to pursue an education because… because if you don't widen your horizon beyond your personal zone of knowledge, how can you ever learn anything new?”

He is stunned, both by her admission and by her offense. “That is a rare view among most of Thedas,” he tells her. “Let alone the Dalish.”

She puts a hand on her hip. “Have my people wronged you in some way?”

“I offered to share knowledge. They were not very welcoming.”

“We take our duty to preserving the ancient ways very seriously.”

“So I gathered.”

She cocks her head. “What knowledge were you wishing to share?”

“Ancient secrets I have discovered in the Fade.”

She nearly drops her coffee twice, fumbling to keep her grip on it. She stares at him with wide eyes. “You're… you're a dreamer _._ ”

He can only smile at her.

She bows her head. “I… mistook you for an…” She mumbles the last part. “Ignorant city elf.”

He gives a laugh. “Now that we've identified our prejudices, shall we start over?”

She lifts her head. “Yes, please.”

He holds out his hand. “Solas.”

“Mithra.”

They shake hands, and he holds hers for a moment as he translates her name. “Sharp as cutting edge.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Pride.”

They stare at each other for a moment, then let go and carry on toward Varric's.

Solas knocks on the door, and Varric answers.

“H-hey! The party's here!” He steps aside to let them in.

The front door opens into a hall, which leads passed the kitchen and into the dinning and living area. Varric's most likely the only person with enough influence and money to live on campus without a roommate. Solas has no idea what he does with the unoccupied bedroom, if he utilizes it at all.

“I want to thank you both again for agreeing to do this,” Varric says as they take a seat at the table.

“Your Chair actually recommended this?” Mithra asks.

Varric shrugs. “What could provide a better example than in-person roleplay? And by running the campaign, I have an objective view and can take notes on what works and what doesn't.”

“Why bother revising _Swords & Shields_?” asks Solas. “Why not just write new stories?”

Varric glares at him. “Publishing is all about sales, my friend. And if my publisher wants proof I can sell more romance, then by the Maker, I'm going to sell more romance.”

Varric claps his hands together as they pull out their character sheets. “So why don't you introduce your characters to each other?”

Mithra goes first. “Ellana is Dalish. Her clan is friendly with humans, and she comes near the conclave to hear about the outcome and determine how it may effect her people.”

“Fen is a Dreamer hedgemage,” Solas explains. “He approaches the conclave also in the hopes of hearing news.”

“Okay,” says Varric. “You both went a little more literal when I suggested you base your characters off yourselves, but that's fine. I can work with that.”

The campaign starts off as expected, battling demons and closing rifts. But Varric quickly steers the campaign into developing the relationship between their characters.

“You change everything.”

Mithra smiles at him.

“Roll a will save not to kiss her,” says Varric.

Solas rolls the die, and it comes up with a 20.

“You are totally safe from kissing her.”

Solas leans back and puts his hands behind his head.

Across the table from him, the corner of Mithra's mouth curves into a smirk.

She turns to Varric. “I kiss _him_.”

“Okay. Solas, roll another will save.”

He rolls, and the die shows 1. Varric laughs.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Chuckles, not only do you fail at _not_ kissing her, you spectacularly fail.”

“So…?”

“So what else does Fen want to do besides kiss her?”

He glances at Mithra who raises her eyebrows. Her smile spreads.

He adverts his gaze. “I, uh, he… I guess… pulls her close so their hips come together.”

Varric raises an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

He can't look at Mithra at all. “And… slides his thigh between her legs.”

Mithra laughs. Solas shields his face with his hand in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“And how does Ellana feel about this?”

“She's surprised… pleasantly.”

Solas chokes and tries to make it sound like a cough.

“Okay,” says Varric. “I think you two have given me plenty of material.”

Solas peeks between his fingers. He hopes he hasn't turned red; Mithra's gone pink in her cheeks.

“Varric, can I use your bathroom?” she asks.

He points down the hall. “First door on your right.”

She leaves. Solas lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and lowers his hand.

“Smooth,” says Varric.

“You kind of put me on the spot.”

Varric holds up his hands. “That's the way the dice roll, Chuckles.” He breaks down his game master screen and puts his dice away. “And if you don't mind my saying, there's clearly some chemistry going on, and it's not all one-sided.”

“You actually think so?”

Varric stares at him. “Just buy the girl dinner and take her out to a movie like a normal person.”

“It's not that simple,” Solas tells him.

“Of course it's not. Asking someone out is never simple. You just do it.”

“I'll think about it.”

Varric groans. “Look, I see where you're coming from with your character. And that's good storytelling, increases the tension. But it's not like you're actually Fen'Harel and you have some sacred duty you're hiding from everyone.”

Solas gives a laugh. “Hardly.”

“Then what is your problem?”

“A mystery for the ages,” Solas mutters.

“What?”

“Just something my roommate says.”

Varric points a pencil at him. “Listen, I had a roommate in undergrad – another broody elf like yourself – and it took him three damn years to go after the girl. Don't do that, okay? I don't feel like reliving it.”

Solas stands. “Good thing for you grad school takes less years.” He doesn't stay to catch Varric's reaction.

He and Mithra walk together from Varric's, back down the campus sidewalks. Dusk has fallen.

“So, Fen'Harel, huh?”

Solas sucks in a breath. Did she overhear his and Varric's entire conversation?

“Varric told me your character's backstory,” she explains. “He wanted to make sure I wouldn't be offended.”

“Oh.” He lets the breath out slowly. “Good, uh, are you? Okay with it, I mean.”

She shrugs. “It's an interesting concept. Why Fen'Harel, though?”

“Just some remnants I found in the Fade. I'm inclined to believe in ancient times _harel_ meant rebel, not traitor.”

“Really?”

“Just from my own observations. I'm afraid I'm not a linguist.”

She stops walking. “So, you're saying, Fen'harel's story – the real one, the one the Dalish know – might be different?”

“Maybe?” He shrugs. “The thought was intriguing enough to inspire the character, but as far historical accuracy, I'm afraid...”

She stares at him for several seconds.

“Is something wrong, Lethallan?”

She shakes her head, more to pull herself out of her trance than in answer. “It's just… your dreaming, everything you must have seen... Were my people really so uninterested in sharing knowledge?” Her eyebrows are drawn together, her lips down turned, confused, distraught.

“Well.” He takes a step forward, encouraging her to follow. “Think of it this way. Here you are at university. You've come to discover new knowledge. Naturally, you'd be more open minded. Whereas I approached the Dalish in the woods where they are notoriously suspicious of outsiders. And as at first glance I appear to be nothing more than an ignorant city elf–”

“I really didn't–”

“I used your term only to clarify the situation, nothing more.”

She stops walking again, her gaze on the ground.

“I would not dwell on it,” he tells her. “For everything I've faulted the Dalish for, _you_ are here.”

She looks up at him, her eyes shinning.

“It has been a long time since anyone cared to listen.”

She smiles, then steps forward and takes his arm. “I would _love_ to hear about everything you've seen in the Fade.”

He laughs. “I'm afraid that would take more time than we have to reach the parking lot. But if you can think of something specific...”

She doesn't say anything, not for a while.

“Have you... done that before?”

He has no idea what she's talking about. “Done what?”

“The whole thigh riding thing.”

He chokes on his own saliva, disentangles himself from her, and dissolves into a fit of coughing. Her laughter fills his ears.

“You don't have to answer that,” she tells him once he's able to properly draw air into his lungs.

If he wasn't red before, he's sure he is now. He runs a hand over his face and around to the back of his neck. “I... uh...”

She clasps his arm again. “You _don't_ have to answer.” He's not sure by her tone if she doesn't want to know or if she's trying to save face on his behalf.

But she doesn't let go of his arm until they reach her car, and he's fine with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you don't know where the “thigh riding” comes from:**  
>  https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/159431445628/kreebby-alatuspictomancer-kreebby-just-a
> 
>  **The theory of the veil and harmonic disruptions:**  
>  http://the-queen-of-thedas.tumblr.com/post/159309833811/the-nature-of-the-veil
> 
>  **I went with the pumpernickel bagel** for Solas because to my knowledge it's made with cocoa powder. Then I researched it and discovered it's apparently a North American tradition and not done elsewhere and not always with cocoa. Oh, well. It contains cocoa powder in my head. You go ahead and enjoy that chocolate bread, Solas.
> 
>  **Solas Romance D &D on Tumblr:**  
> https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/159415172878/solas-romance-dd-session


	2. Chapter 2

She notices him the next day in the hall, and to her joy he walks straight toward her, a smile on his face.

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

She blanches. “What?”

“Are you free tonight?”

“Uh...” She shakes her head, trying to clear the thought that this question means anything more than the ordinary. “I was planning on going to the library.”

His smile never fades. “How late do you plan on being there?”

“All night?”

“Perfect. I'll see you later.”

He brushes passed her. She turns to watch him leave as though his vanishing form might somehow explain what the hell just happened.

 

* * *

 

It's impossible for her to focus on research. She finds a chair and a table in the library and places a stack of books in front of her, but beyond that she makes little progress. Her eyes refuse to take in the text, and her mind keeps wondering where Solas is and why he seemed so excited earlier.

At length, she leaves her table to find one on the upper floors. Maybe if she can distance herself from the front door, she might be able to focus better. When this too fails, she puts a pair of earbuds in her ears and tries to distract her wandering mind with music.

It works, but it doesn't help her studying.

It's hours before she's finally able to focus. And it barely lasts thirty minutes until she's pulled out of it by a hand on her shoulder.

“There you are!” Solas stands behind her with a backpack over one shoulder and a jacket tied around his waist. He wears a wide grin across his face. “Grab your stuff and follow me.”

He's stepped away before she's even removed both earbuds from her ears. She gives the books up for a lost cause, shoves her notebook and music player into her backpack, and hurries after him.

“Solas, where are we going?”

“You'll see. Come on.” He sounds practically giddy.

 She follows him into the stairwell, then up three floors to the seventh level. He keeps walking, right up to the door marked, “Roof Access. Authorized Personnel Only.”

“Um, Solas?”

“Don't worry,” he says. “I do this all the time.”

He lays his hand on the door handle. The lock clicks and turns without him touching it.

“How did you–?”

“I have friends,” he says.

She follows him out onto the library roof. At seven stories up, they can see the whole of campus and surrounding Halamshiral. The Winter Palace glitters in the distance. More pressing though is the elf kneeling a few feet from her and digging a blanket out his backpack.

“Solas, if we're caught up here–”

“Don't worry,” he assures her. “They only come up to do maintenance on the exhausts.” He waves a lazy hand at the vents behind her. “And they did that last week.”

She watches him as he lays the blanket out on the rough surface of the roof, then folds it over to make it thicker. “Solas, what are we doing up here?”

He doesn't answer right away, seeing to the blanket and making sure it's folded to his satisfaction. “Helping you with your research.”

She stares at him.

He smiles. “Would you like to see the ancient origins of the Knight Enchanter specialization?”

Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

He nods, grinning.

She casts one last look at the door and one last thought on the worry of being expelled before rushing over to him. “What do I have to do?”

“Just make yourself comfortable.” He gestures at the blanket on the ground, then pulls out and folds a second one for himself to lay on. He gives her his jacket to bunch up as a pillow, then bunches up his backpack to make one for himself.

“So,” she says as he lays down beside her. “How is this going to work?”

“Basically,” he explains. “We both hold an image in our minds as we fall asleep. It will be the same image. Thus, when our minds enter the Fade, we'll arrive in the same location. And I'll be able to pull your mind into lucidity, so you can walk around as I do.”

“Okay. Sounds simple enough.” Though, she wonders if she'll be able to calm her excitement enough to fall asleep. “What image do I need to think of?”

He waves his arms in front of him, gesturing out at the star-dotted sky. “Imagine a tall citadel, with spires reaching toward the heavens, entwined in harmony with nature upon a mountain face. Eluvians dot the area, and a waterfall runs through the center of it all.”

It sounds miraculous, and she tries for a moment to picture it in her head before realizing they have a problem. “Solas, I can _try_ to imagine that, but you've actually _seen_ it. How are our images going to match up?”

“Oh! One second.” He sits up and rummages through his backpack. “I forgot.” He hands a crumpled paper depicting the image he just described in painted acrylics.

“Solas!” She bolts upright, running her fingers over the paper's surface. “This is...”

She turns to him. He cocks his head and blinks, as though he has no idea the significance of what she holds in her hands. “This is ancient elven technique. There are _Dalish_ who couldn't do this justice.”

“You flatter me.”

“I do _not_.” She returns to the paper and runs her fingers over it again. “How could you…?” But even as she voices the words, she knows the answer. He's seen and studied it in the Fade. “This art form takes the experts of my people half a lifetime or more to learn.”

“I have more time than most people.”

She turns to find him smirking at her. She wants nothing more than to smack him and insist he take this seriously.

He gestures at the blankets. “Shall we?”

Part of her wants to scream in exasperation. But the other part is ecstatic at the thought of experiencing ancient secrets in the Fade. She takes a deep breath and lies down. She holds the painting in front of her, taking another moment to marvel at it before committing it to memory and storing it under Solas' jacket under her head.

He smiles at her. “See you on the other side.”

She closes her eyes and holds the image of the citadel in her mind. For some time, she can't sleep at all. A few glances to see if Solas has dozed off before her don't help. But eventually, her mind settles.

She's jerked into awareness. At first, she thinks she's awake until she realizes she's not on the rooftop but the mountainside in Solas' painting. He's holding her hand and doesn't let it go.

“Come on,” he gestures toward the spiraling structure before them and pulls her toward a courtyard.

He releases her hand as to they come to what must be a training yard. Less than a dozen elves, mostly men but some women, battle each other on cobblestones. Their clothing is foreign, but there are adornments reminiscent of the Dalish.

The fighters face each other, one to one. Some carry staves, others melee weapons, all use magic. One warrior creates a glowing sword in his hand out of pure energy. Another imbues his knives with charmed flame. Others strike with a force impossible without magical aid. One woman hits her staff against the stone floor and a shield of pure will appears before her.

“There were called Arcane Warriors,” Solas tells her. “The name for the technique was _Dirth'ena Enasalin_ , 'knowledge that led to victory.'”

“Can they see us?” she asks.

“No,” he tells her. “It's just a memory.”

But it feels so real, the sounds of exertion from the warriors, the warmth of the sun on her skin, the smell of wildflowers and sweat…

They stand and watch until the sparring session is over. The warriors bow to each other, then disperse.

“Are you ready to go?” Solas asks.

“No.” She laughs. “Can we explore?”

He grins like this was the answer he was hoping for. “Of course.” He offers his arm, and she takes it.

They tour the corridors, discovering ancient tapestries, murals, and artifacts.

They peruse an ancient library with books written in an unrecognizable form of elven.

They travel the eluvians, jumping distances they couldn't have covered on foot.

They watch ancient beings perform mundane tasks that appear miraculous for the sheer novelty of the time period.

They sit on a bench in a courtyard and take in the mountain beauty. For a little while she imagines she's one of the ancient beings who belong to this world.

With a contented sigh, she drops from the bench onto the grass and lays on her back to look up at the clear blue sky. “Solas,” she says. “This is the most amazing thing anyone has ever...” She doesn't know a word for what this is.

He joins her on the grass and sits. “You are quite welcome, _l_ a _thallan_. I've enjoyed having someone to share it with.”

She turns her head to beam at him. “I could do this every night.”

“I would treasure the company.”

She laughs, then sits up so they are facing each other. “Do you ever… find it difficult existing between two worlds?”

He gives her a sad smile. “All the time.”

Her hand finds his before she pauses to consider whether or not she should. Their fingers caress but don't entwine.

“It helps,” he says. “To find things to ground oneself in reality.”

“You mean people?”

He shakes his head. “Not usually.”

“What about currently?”

He smiles, and she forgets about everything around them. The ancient elves and their secrets are nothing compared with the way he's looking at her. He raises a hand to cup the side of her face, and she leans closer to him.

Her lips meet his and find no resistance. In fact, she thinks she hears him sigh before pressing back. The hand against her cheek slides to the back of her neck as he kisses her.

All too soon, he's pushing her away. “We shouldn't. Not here.”

She doesn't understand. “Why not here?”

He chuckles, and her heart flutters. “Do you want to draw demons to us?” He pulls her closer and whispers into her ear. “Wake up.”

Her eyes open and she staring at the pale morning sky above the library building. She sits up to find Solas already up and waiting for her.

“Are you all right?” he asks her, smiling.

She nods. “Yeah.”

She reaches for him, and they pick up where they left off, more eagerly with the threat of demons out of the way.

Eventually, she breaks away from him with a laugh. “I don't normally do this.”

“Kiss men on illegal rooftops in the middle of the night?”

She turns back to him. “Something like that.”

“This is...” He rubs the back of his neck. “Unusual for me as well.”

“Maybe we… should hang out more.” He laughs, and she hits him. “You know what I mean!”

“Yes, I know what you mean, and I would love to. But first...” He stands. “Let's get off this roof before light breaks and someone sees us up here.”

They gather everything into his backpack, but she hesitates to let his painting go.

“Keep it,” he tells her.

“Oh, no, I couldn't.”

“Of course you can.” He insists. “Keep it.”

 

* * *

 

Her head is in a spin the entire drive back to her apartment. She can hardly believe everything they'd seen in the Fade… or what they'd done after the fact… or that she could feel so strongly for someone she hasn't known for very long.

All these things she holds in her head as she unlocks her apartment door and steps inside. Her roommate, Vivienne, smiles at her from the kitchen counter, up entirely too early as usual. “There you are!" Her eyes look her up and down, noting she's in the same clothes as yesterday. "Goodness, don't tell me you were at the library all night.”

“No, I was with Solas.” Too late does she consider the implications of her words. Alarm fills her as Vivienne's eyes widen.

“My, _darling_.” She lays a hand on her chest.

“No, Vivienne!” She hurries, horrified. “I only–”

“No need to deny it, dear. I too have sought causal pleasures from time to time. Although, I suggest we find you more appropriate personage to engage with.”

She puts a hand on her hip. “What's wrong with Solas?”

“Nothing's _wrong_ with him, I'm sure,” she says. “But certainly we can find you someone just as if not more pleasurable with higher standing.”

She sighs. “Vivienne, this isn't what you–”

She gives a wave of her hand. “Say no more, darling! I am on the case." She slides from her chair and heads toward her room. "I suppose it would be important to you that he's elven... and it must be a he, yes? I'm sure I know _someone_ who would...” Her voice trails off as she grows further away and eventually vanishes through the door on the other side of the living room.

Mithra stands stunned in the foyer, wondering if there's any way she can redo the past five minutes.

 

* * *

 

She looks forward to joking with Solas about Vivienne's interpretation of their night together, but when she catches him in the hall the next day, he turns down a different passage. She convinces herself he must have been in a hurry to get somewhere, but the remainder of the week turns out similarly. She doesn't understand why he'd feel the need to avoid her.

He doesn't meet her for dinner before heading to Varric's, and he arrives at the apartment five minutes after her. He won't meet her eyes.

Hurt as she is, she focuses on their characters for Varric's sake.

As Ellana and Fen talk on a balcony, Solas finally makes eye contact. “I haven't forgotten the kiss.”

She isn't sure if he's roleplaying or talking directly to her… or both.

“Good,” she says. Then, without breaking eye contact, she tells Varric, “I walk up to him… suggestively.”

“Meaning?” asks Varric.

“Ellana wants another kiss.”

“And what does Fen do?”

Something shifts in Solas' eyes. She doesn't know what it is.

He drops his gaze. “I… walk away.”

“Roll a will save.”

He does. 18.

“I grab his arm,” she says. “Ask him not to go.” She's not sure if _she's_ roleplaying or something more.

“Roll again,” says Varric.

Solas rolls a 2.

Varric chuckles.

Solas looks straight at her. “ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_.”

He stands from the table and walks out the front door.

Mithra and Varric stare at each other.

Varric jerks his thumb in Solas' direction. “I have no idea what he said.”

“I do.” She stands from the table and goes after him.

Solas stands still in the middle of the parking lot. If a car came down the street toward him, she's not certain he'd notice.

“Solas?”

He doesn't respond.

She moves closer. “Solas?” Only when she's standing next to him does he finally turn his head. “Are you okay?”

He averts his gaze, staring off into the distance. “Do you remember the Mage-Templar War?”

“Of course, I do,” she says. “Everyone does.”

He shakes his head. “There are children for whom it will be nothing more than a fact in a history book or a time they remember when everyone was scared but they couldn't understand why.”

He doesn't elaborate, and she waits.

“I had friends,” he tells her. “People I cared about, and who I thought cared about me. People I thought I could trust. When the war broke out everyone was terrified. Family turned on each other...”

He falls silent, and she moves closer to him. “What happened?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “They reported me to the Templars." His hands curl into fists. "Templars who at that point were so far gone from the Chantry, who were killing mages and mistaken refugees for sport.” He turns to her. “Do you know where I'd be if I hadn't ran?”

She can only stare at him open mouthed, the pain his eyes and the horror of the situation too much for her to come up with an appropriate response.

He goes back to staring into the distance. “I'm not sure I ever really… stopped running.”

She lays a tentative hand on his shoulder, and that's when she notices he's shaking. "I'm so sorry, Solas."

He turns to her and gestures between them. “I don't know how to do this.”

“It's okay.” She pulls him into an embrace and holds him as tightly as she can.

“I'm sorry.” His voice breaks.

“It's okay,” she repeats.

The stand like that for a while, with Solas shaking in her arms and her hoping that maybe if she holds him tight enough some of the pain might go away. The only reason she lets him go is because a damned car comes toward them.

“Come on,” she takes his hand and leads him through the row of parked cars to the edge of the asphalt where they sit with their feet in the grass. She pretends not to notice as he wipes his eyes.

Eventually, he turns to her. “It's been so long since I could trust someone. And I want to, but...”

“You don't have to explain, Solas. I understand.”

He shakes his head. “I've been… I should have handled this better.”

It's the truth, but she's not about to admonish him for it. “At least, you're talking to me now.”

“I'll work on it,” he tells her.

She moves closer to him so their shoulders brush. “What you said back there… was that for Ellana, or did you mean it another way?”

He smiles at her. “Would it scare you if I said it wasn't for Ellana?”

“I don't know,” she admits. They haven't known each other for very long, but with how strongly she feels toward him... Does it make them fools to throw a word such as “love” around?

He looks away. “Scares the hell out of me.”

She gives him a moment, then turns his face to hers. “Solas, what you've been through… I would never do that to you.”

“I've heard that before.”

“You've heard it from shitty people.”

He actually laughs. “Perhaps.”

“For certain.”

They stare at each other. Solas raises a shaking hand to her cheek. She takes it and holds it firmly in hers.

“I'll work on it,” he insists.

She hugs him again because it seems like the right thing to do. When they part, she takes his hand and pulls him to stand. “Tell me a story.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Tell me about ancient ruins you found in the Fade.”

“I can do that.”

They walk the apartment complex, and she holds his hand. And she doesn't care if she's in for another long night that Vivienne will take to mean an illicit affair, or if Varric's still sitting at his dinning table wondering where the hell they went. And when Solas says, “ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_ ” a second time and kisses her, she isn't afraid of falling in love right after him.


	3. Chapter 3

It's the early hours of the morning when Solas returns to his apartment, emotionally drained but still pleased by the night's events. He drops his keys on the kitchen counter before turning down the hall toward his bedroom.

His roommate, Dorian, peeks out from behind his own bedroom door, dressed only in boxer shorts.

“You know,” he says. “One of these nights there's going to be a thief in our apartment, and I won't get up to make sure it's you. And then we'll both be dead.”

Solas rolls his eyes. “Or just you.”

“What?”

He sighs. He wouldn't mind genuine sleep right now. But if he retreated to the sanctuary of his room and ignored the conversation, Dorian would just bring it up again later. “The necessity to check if it's me implies I'm not here. So it'd just be you who would theoretically die.”

“Or you _are_ here,” Dorian corrects him. “But I'm so sleepy and used to you coming home during odd hours of the night, I assume it's you anyway.”

Solas rubs his eyes. “I doubt we'd be dead. Burglaries don't usually degrade to murder.”

Dorian gives a laugh. “You've never been to Tevinter.”

“We're not in Tevinter.”

A hiss emanates in response from Dorians shins. Vhera, Dorian's long haired black cat, nuzzles against her owner's legs while keeping her yellow eyes on Solas.

“With any luck,” he says. “Orlesian thieves are interested in pets.”

“Now, now,” says Dorian, picking Vhera up. “If anyone tried to steal you, you'd just scratch their eyes out, wouldn't you, you little monster?” He nuzzles his nose against hers.

Solas heads for his bedroom. “Goodnight, Dorian.”

Vhera gives him another hiss.

Solas gives his door a shove to close it and collapses gratefully onto his bed.

 

* * *

 

“I'm afraid my roommate thinks you're a bad influence.”

He looks up from the book in his hand. “I'm sorry?”

Mithra sighs, putting down her phone that she's been texting into. “She doesn't believe you're actually here to study.”

He's not sure he understands. “Do you mean here at the library or here as in the University?”

“University.”

“And why would she think that?”

Mithra picks up her book. “You disappear at odd hours of the night – which we know what that's about. And you spend hours in odd sections of the library investigating subjects not related to the Veil… supposedly.”

He blinks. “And your roommate would know my research habits how exactly?”

Mithra shrugs and gives a wave of her hand like she doesn't care. She groans as her phone vibrates again. She sets down her book and picks up her phone again. “She also thinks we're ravishing each other till the early hours of the morning.”

He chokes on air. “Excuse me?”

She smirks at him from behind her phone. He isn't sure if she's joking or not.

“I don't understand why your roommate would be so concerned about my...” He searches for the right words. “Activities… or lack there of.”

She punches a response into her phone. Then her eyes widen in recognition of his words, and she breaks into a fit of giggles.

Heads in the library turn to look at their table, and Mithra presses a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

He pretends to ignore her, returning to his book. He's barely read a page of it since he sat across from her an hour ago.

Her phones goes off again and she exhales in exasperation. “I just wish Vivienne would stop bothering me about her Circle connections.”

Solas trips over the words on the page. “Wait.” He looks up at her. “Please tell me you're not talking about _Grand Enchanter_ Vivienne.” He waits for her to laugh and tell him he's crazy, but she doesn't.

She thinks for a moment. “I suppose there aren't any other Viviennes in the Circle?”

He groans.

“Is that such as bad thing?” she asks.

“Is it a _bad thing_ your roommate has the connections to have me followed at all hours of the day?”

She shakes her head. “She's not having you followed.”

He fixes her with a look.

She points a finger at him. “You are overly cynical and mistrusting of people, and I accept that.”

He sits back in his chair and tosses his hopeless book on the table.

“You're overreacting,” she tells him.

“I'm overreacting? Does it not bother you that your roommate is running the only Circle in Thedas in direct opposition to the College of Enchanters?”

She stares at him. “What's so bad about that?”

He throws up his hands, runs them over his head, and takes a breath as he reminds himself not take his frustration out on her. “A return to the Circles where Mages were imprisoned isn't a bad thing?”

She shakes her head again. “No one is returning the Circles.”

“But your roommate would prefer to see them return.”

“But they're not _going to_.”

He exhales in exasperation. How can she not see the importance of this? He leans back in his chair and changes tactics. “Have you given any thought as to why she's rooming with you?”

She leans back in her own chair and narrows her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“She's the Grand Enchanter,” he tells her. “She could have the entire University leaning on her every whim, delivering books to her personal quarters, having professors visiting the Circle personally to tutor her, but instead she chooses to room with you.”

“Our apartment complex has a very rigorous roommate matching process.”

He crosses his arms. “I'm sure it does.”

“What are you saying?”

“You're exotic,” he tells her. “How much prestige does it gain her to personally know the Dalish elf?”

Her brow is furrowed in annoyance. “Vivienne is a friend.”

“I'm sure she is,” he says.

As though on cue, Mithra's phone vibrates. She rolls her eyes and picks it up again. Then smiles triumphantly. “Vivienne's invited us both to lunch!”

He shakes his head. “Well, this should be interesting.”

“Stop it,” she tells him.

 

* * *

 

Lunch turns out to be more interesting than he thought. An entire room has been reserved in one of the University buildings. Through the glass walls they can view Vivienne entertaining in a room containing hors d'oeuvres, wine, and over half a dozen elven men.

“Don't say it,” Mithra tells him before he can protest.

He gestures at the room. “Is there some way I shouldn't take this?”

Mithra takes a deep breath and let's it out, her nostrils flaring as she glares at her roommate. She takes Solas' arm and guides them forward. “Come on.”

Vivienne greets her roommate with open arms as they walk through the door. “Darling!”

Mithra does not return the embrace. “What is this?” she asks when Vivienne pulls away from her.

“It's just dinner with a few friends.” She gestures around, grinning broadly. “I'm pleased to see you brought your _friend_.” He's not sure whether or not he imagined the emphasis on the last word. “I thought you'd appreciate the opportunity to mingle with such esteemed guests.”

He has no idea who these elven men are, though he supposes they must have some reputation to be among Vivienne's contacts. Three of them wear Circle robes, two are in full suits, and the others are dressed business-casual. They make quite the contrast to his own plain gray t-shirt, blue zip-up hoodie, and jeans. But then, he hadn't expected needing to impress anyone today.

“Vivienne–” Mithra starts.

Her roommate takes her hand. “Come, darling. There's someone I want you to meet.”

Mithra stumbles as Vivienne pulls her from his side. Solas sighs. He glances around the room again, this time focusing on the food and wine. If he has to be here, he might as well take advantage of the fine Orlesian fare offered.

He decides against the food – although there are mini chocolate cakes that catch his attention – and instead takes a glass of wine and nurses it from a chair in the corner of the room.

Mithra is chatting with one of the Circle mages. This one has vallaslin on his face – a feature he expects the Grand Enchanter hoped the two would bond over. Solas can't hear the words being exchanged, but the mage laughs and Mithra's face scrunches in disgust. She walks away from him, leaving the mage to stare after her. When he tries to reconcile his mistake, Mithra keeps her back to him, pretending to be engrossed in another elf's conversation. Eventually, he gives up and leaves the room.

Solas chuckles into his wine.

One by one the room's occupants diminish, Mithra dismissing one elf after another. If this distresses her roommate, the Grand Enchanter never breaks her charming countenance. Mithra, on the other hand, grows increasingly annoyed, the color in her face rises to a permanent flush and her smile is pained. She breaks away from Vivienne for a moment and joins him in the corner.

“I'm _so_ sorry I dragged you into this,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “This must be so awkward–”

“I am rather enjoying myself,” he tells her.

She drops her hand from her neck. “You are?”

He raises his wine glass in a toast to her. “Watching you dispatch your potential suitors has been quite entertaining.”

Her nerves vanish and a wide grin spreads across her face. “Well, then. I suppose I should dispatch a few more.”

“Please do.”

She begins to walk away but then turns around and gives him an opened mouthed kiss before leaving again.

He sighs as he watches her go, wanting nothing more than to pull her back to him and forget about the four remaining men in the room and the scheming roommate.

Speaking of which...

Vivienne makes her way to him, her smile full of politeness and what would appear to be genuine warmth. She's so deep in The Game, he wonders if she sometimes fools herself.

He raises his glass to her. “You throw a fine gathering, Enchanter.”

She gives a wave of her hand as she sits next to him. “You are too kind. This could have been far grander, but Mithra is so devoted to her studies, I would have never been able to pull her off campus.”

Solas gives a nod. “She can be quite stubborn when she knows what she wants.”

Vivienne's gaze follows her roommate. “I've found that a gentle push in the right direction can often change even the most stubborn mind.”

He sips his wine. “And this tactic works often?”

“When it needs to.”

They sit in silence and watch as another elf leaves the room. Solas smiles and tries to hide it by raising the wine glass to his lips.

Vivienne turns her attention to him. “Might I inquire as to your intentions with our dear Mithra?”

He drinks to give himself time to think of answer she won't use against him. “My intentions… are to be at her side so long as she will permit me.”

“And should she choose otherwise?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Then we shall part ways.”

“Such a casual attitude for someone who has watched her so intently at present.”

“Are either of those inappropriate?” He places his empty glass on the table beside him. “We've only been dating a few weeks. Would it please you more if I were to propose marriage? I only state the facts of any relationship, Enchanter.”

She says nothing but stands as Mithra moves to meet the final suitor, the last of the Circle mages. Vivienne joins the two of them, apparently intent on making this work.

Solas pays them little attention, anticipating the moment when he and Mithra can finally leave. He's debating on whether or not he wants to snatch one of those chocolate cakes, when a small cry sounds in his head. Something tugs on his consciousness, like a fish hook pulling his attention to the mage.

The mage's hand is in the air directing a show of dancing lights emanating from a spirit.

Solas grips the arm of his chair to stop himself from rising out of it. He tries to avert his gaze, but even though the spirit has gone silent, the cry of distress still echoes in his mind. He cannot look away.

Mithra glances at him as she's done the whole event. She does a double a take, than hurries to him. “What's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” he tells her, his gaze faltering now that she's blocking his view. He takes a breath, tells himself to forget it. No harm has been done.

“Solas.” She lifts his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers, full of gentleness and concern.

His resolve melts. “Remember how I unlocked the door to the library roof, and you asked how I did it?”

She nods. “You said you had friends.”

“Spirits,” he tells her.

She blinks. “Spirits?”

“They are intelligent creatures, I talk with them, I befriend them, I ask for help and they choose whether or not to do so.” Irritation rises in his voice. “ They are not _things_ to be bound to obedience against their will used for parlor tricks.”

Mithra's eyes harden and she stands. She strides toward the elven mage who still smiles, pleased with himself.

“Let it go,” she tells him.

His smile drops. “What?”

“I said, let it go.”

He blinks, confused. “It's just a harmless spell.”

Her back is to him, so Solas can't see her face, but he can imagine the flash of determination in her eyes as she pushes the mage's arm down, breaking the spell and releasing the spirit. The fish hook feeling in the back of Solas' head dissipates.

She turns and glares at her roommate. “Thank you, Vivienne, for the company this evening, but I'm afraid I'll be leaving with the one I walked in with.”

She goes to Solas, takes his arm, and pulls him out of his chair. “Should you like to join my _boyfriend_ and I for lunch sometime with just the three of us, we'd be happy to have you.”

She leads him from the room, not stopping until they have left the building. She exhales a hard breath and turns to him. Her face is still flushed with irritation. “Are you all right?”

He nods at her. He's better than all right, to tell the truth.

She cocks her head. “How do you get through campus? I'm sure spirit binding is practiced in at least one class.”

“I avoid the Magical Studies Building during those periods,” he admits.

“Doesn't it upset you?”

He nods. “Can you imagine the result if I protested? I interrupted such a class during my first weeks as a student. Dr Pentaghast had to make several reparations.”

She stares at him.

“In truth, so long as the spirit isn't forced into anything drastic and is returned to the Fade in a short time, it is only a momentary discomfort, and no real harm is done.”

She shakes her head. “You shouldn't have to bear that, Solas.”

He can't help but smile at her. “I've... never met anyone who cared before.”

Her eyes soften till they're almost sad. “Is that really so surprising?”

“Yes.”

She sighs. “You have known some shitty people.”

His grin widens. “You've said that before.”

“Well, it bares saying again!”

Her anger on his behalf is the most endearing thing, and he can't help but kiss her, the tension in her body fading away as he folds his arms around her.

She gives a satisfied sigh when he pulls away. “What were we talking about?”

He laughs and takes her hand. “There's something I want to show you.”

 

* * *

 

Vhera greets them at the door with a hiss, indicating that Dorian is not home. If he had been, Vhera would be with him.

Mithra gives Solas an inquisitive look.

He shrugs as he steps around the cat. “She doesn't like me.”

“Not a cat person?” she asks.

“I have nothing personal against them,” he tells her. “For some reason, no cat I've ever met has shared the same sentiment.”

He leads her down the hall to his room. She gasps as she passes through the doorway. His walls are covered with painted papers depicting images he's seen in the Fade; ancient ruins, old memories, spirits.

Mithra is enchanted by them, examining each one in turn, gingerly touching her fingers to the dried paint. “You've visited all these places?”

“I have.”

He waits as she makes a slow circle around his room. Though he's pleased with her enthusiasm, this isn't what he wanted to show her.

Eventually she turns to him and notices the large map of Thedas hung on his wall. Over two dozen pins mark locations labeled with notes in his handwriting; titles of books with page numbers, the names of places or things she's never hear of, various questions.

“What is this?” she asks.

“In the Fade,” he tells her. “I have seen things. Hints and what I believe to be… trail makers of a sort left by the ancient elves.”

“Trail markers?”

He nods. “I think at some point, the remaining ancient elves from when Elvhenan fell hid themselves somewhere in the far reaches of Thedas.”

Her eyes widen. “You think they might still exist somewhere today?”

“Perhaps. Or at least there may be ruins untouched by human hands.” He bites his lip. “Vivienne was right about one thing. I didn't come here to study the Veil. I hoped the University's resources would help me narrow the field.”

“Has it?” she asks, unfazed by him admission.

He shakes his head. “Not nearly as much as I hoped.”

She turns back to the map and touches the pins on it. She shakes her head. “I once believed only the Dalish were capable of recovering our lost history, but this goes farther than my people ever could.” She turns to him. “I owe you an apology, Solas.”

He shakes his head. “You owe me nothing.”

She looks at the floor. “You saw the Circle mage with the vallaslin? He left his clan, said he didn't see the point of living in squalor while trying to recover a legacy that's long dead.”

He steps to her and takes her hands. “Is that why you walked away from him so fast?”

She looks up at him, her eyes shinning with moisture. “When I left my clan, many of them thought I was abandoning them. They didn't understand how human institutions could help us reclaim what was lost. And when I first met you, I was so certain you had no idea…” She sighs. “We are a prejudiced people, and it's costs us more than we know.”

“And yet here you are.” He cups her cheek. “Working tirelessly to restore what was lost. Your people are lucky to have you, _vhenan_.”

“What about you?” She gestures at the map. “Why do you search when you have no clan to accept what you find?”

He smiles. “How could I ignore what my dreams showed me when I've always valued them more than the waking world?”

“Always?” she asks.

He nods.

“And what about now?”

He kisses her in response. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. When he teases her lips with his tongue, she lets him in and a soft moan escapes them both.

The waking world certainly has advantages it never held before.

 

* * *

 

Solas' door is closed.

The sight is so unusual it stops Dorian in his tracks outside his room. Solas _never_ closes his door. During the day, it's usually wide open – something about liking the air flow, he once said. When his roommate has wanted privacy, he's left the door cracked by some degree, but never completely shut.

He's not sure what this means or if he has any reason to be concerned by it.

He steps to the door and raps gently as he opens it. “Solas, are you–?” His words falter immediately as his eyes fall on the two elven forms sleeping atop the covers on the bed. His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. Solas sleeps with his arm around the shoulders of a female figure. She lays on her side against him, her arm draped across his chest. Both are shirtless but otherwise thankfully clothed.

Solas never said anything about having a lady friend.

He jumps as Vhera's soft fur brushes against his leg. “ _Purrrrowl_?” she says, as though asking him what he's looking at.

He presses a finger to his lips, then takes a few steps back and closes Solas' door as softly as he can.

 

* * *

 

“Fen is going to tell her everything,” Solas tells Varric at their next gaming session.

Varric raises his eyebrows. “Really? Everything?”

Solas nods.

Varric lets out a breath. “You realize that would change the entire campaign? I would have to rewrite everything I have prepared beyond this point.”

“Didn't you say the best stories are uncovered and not told?” Mithra supplies.

Varric grumbles under his breath. He throws up his hands. “Fine!”

Solas and Mithra smile at each other across the table.

“But you're rolling for it!” Varric adds, pointing a finger at Solas.

He looks uncertainly down at his dice. He hasn't exactly had the best luck.

“Varric–“ Mithra tries.

The dwarf shakes his head. “Given the world-changing implications of this, and his character would know that, he has to make a Will Save to tell her.”

Mithra turns to Solas and grimaces.

Solas sighs, picks up his die, and rolls.

2.

Varric laughs. Mithra gives him a look.

“Fine,” he chuckles. “I'll let you roll again.”

Solas tries again.

4.

Varric puts his face in his hands. Solas isn't sure if he's laughing or crying.

“Alright,” he says when he pulls his hands away. “One more time, Chuckles.”

1.

Solas curses under his breath.

Mithra holds out her hand for the die. He hands it to her, and she tosses it into the waste basket at the other end of the table.

He wishes he'd thought of that sooner. “Okay, Varric, what does that mean?”

“Well, Fen has to tell Ellana something,” he says. “He did promise to tell her the truth, so it's got to be something she doesn't know. But it's not what he intended to tell her.”

His mind draws a blank. Something Ellana doesn't know?

He looks across the table at Mithra and tries to think of things he's seen in the Fade that she wouldn't know about. But not just lost elven phrases or ruins. Something big… something world-shattering. Something that would be meaningful enough for Fen to have dragged Ellana so far from Skyhold.

Varric snaps his fingers. “Come on. Fen's on a bit of a time crunch here.”

All he can think of is Mithra's face staring back at him, her beautiful eyes, her soft smile, the vallaslin that frames her features... “They're slave markings.”

Mithra blinks. Her eyebrows come together as her eyes search his face. He looks away.

“Slave markings,” Varric repeats breathlessly. “That's… well… how does Ellana–?”

“Hold on.” Mithra holds up a hand to silence him. Her gaze never leaves Solas. “Are you roleplaying right now, or was that for real?”

He won't look at her. He can't look at her.

She slams her fist on the table. “Solas!”

He jumps and turns to meet her gaze.

“You made that up right?” she asks. “You didn't mean...”

If he could take it back, he would. If he could curse his mouth shut, he would. If he'd had more time to think of something appropriate and Varric hadn't been pressuring him while he was staring at her face–

“Oh, Creators,” she breathes.

“Mithra, I'm sorry.” He reaches for her hands, but she pulls them away. “I didn't mean… I just...”

“Why would you say that?!” she demands, tears filling her eyes.

He stands, moving to comfort her, but she pushes him away. She snatches her coat from the back of her chair.

“I hope Varric doesn't mind giving you a ride home.” She brushes passed him and out the front door.

Solas runs his hands over his face and continues to curse himself.

“That,” says Varric, “is not what I meant.”

Solas glares at him from between his fingers. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon cats don't like Solas because they can sense the Dread Wolf thing.
> 
> Shouldn't work for this AU because he's not Fen'Harel, but shhhh.


	4. Chapter 4

He approaches their regular lunch table with a small box in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. She intended to ignore him, to pretend she didn't notice his approach, but the sight catches her off guard.

Purple hyacinths, white tulips, and red roses.

This is not a mindless bouquet he picked up from the University gift shop on his way over. He had to go to a florist for those. And with how focused Orlais is on the latest fashions, she's inclined to believe _he_ , not the florist, specifically chose flowers that expressed apology.

She's speechless as he hands the bouquet to her.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

She breathes in the flowers' beautiful scent, brushes her fingertips against the delicate petals… and she realizes she's not angry, just hurt.

“Is it true?” she asks him as he takes his usual seat next to her.

He lowers his eyes and nods.

She shakes her head, fighting off a new wave of hot tears. “Is that what you think of us? That we're just some idiot children playing in the woods with… self-marred faces?”

“ _No_.” His hand snatches hers and squeezes it.

“Is that what you thought of me?” she presses. “Every time you passed me in the hallway?”

“Mithra, stop.” His other hand joins the first, cradling her fingers in his. “I _never_ thought of you that way.”

She doesn't believe him. “Then why did you–?”

“Because I panicked.” His gaze remains locked with hers, unwavering. “I needed to come up with something Ellana didn't know and I…” He removes one of his hands from hers and gestures at her face. “It was right in front of me.” His hand drops back to the other. “And I am _so_ sorry. I never should have said anything.”

She turns away from his earnest face, her hand still clasped in his. She believes him, but it doesn't make the hurt go away. Just one more thing her people lost… and so terribly misunderstood… It hurts, but it's not his fault.

Her eyes sweep over the small box sitting on the table. “What's that?”

He slides the box over to her.

She has to lay the bouquet on the table and let go of him to open it. Inside is one of the single-serve frilly cakes from the marketplace with brown ruffled icing. She raises her eyebrows to him in question, but he just smiles and passes her a fork.

She takes a bite of cake. Rich chocolate and coffee flavor rolls over her tongue with a decadence only Orlais could achieve. From the smirk on Solas' face, she's not sure she fully resisted the urge to roll her eyes into the back of her head.

She attempts to glare at him as she pulls box closer to her, but she knows it's a feeble attempt at best.

She raises her fork to her mouth for another bite. “I forgive you.”

 

* * *

 

“You still trust her?” Solas asks as they approach her apartment where Vivienne has invited them to lunch.

“She was only trying to help,” she tells him. “In a very… _forceful_ way. But that doesn't make her less of a friend. Her heart was in the right place.”

Solas scoffs and shakes his head. “You are too trusting of people.”

Mithra stops in front of the door and glares at him.

“That was… I didn't mean it as a fault.”

“Didn't you?”

He shakes his head. “Just because the world has taught me certain lessons does not mean I wish them on other people. And I'm always open to the possibility of being proven wrong.”

How is it whenever she's mad at him, she can never stay so for long? She can't help the smile that spreads across her face, nor the laughter that erupts from her. “You're a closet optimist.”

He smirks. “Don't tell anyone.”

She shakes her head, trying to ignore the way her stomach flutters when he smiles like that, and opens the door.

Vivienne is waiting for them, and she hugs Mithra to her. She offers Solas a hand. “I hope there are no hard feelings regarding our last encounter.”

Solas shows no emotion. Mithra wonders how he'd react if she told him he plays The Game as well as Vivienne.

“None at all.” He raises Vivienne's hand to his lips.

Vivienne turns around before Mithra can get a reading on her reaction. She gestures at the kitchen counter where a variety of hors d'oeuvres are spread: crackers with various cheeses or fruit, arrangements of lamb or fish on greens, delicate chocolates and pastries.

It's been a while since Mithra joined Vivienne for lunch, but the experience is always enjoyable. Her roommate once said meals should be an experience of flavors. And Orleasian flair is always so.

She and Solas load their plates and join Vivienne at the kitchen table.

“I'm pleased to announce you both passed the test,” she tells them.

“Test?” asks Solas.

“What do you think our previous encounter was? I wanted to test the strength of your relationship. And you, Solas, handled the competition quite well and in full confidence of Mithra's ability to dispatch them.” She beams at them. “I also held concerns Mithra had chosen you out of lack of options, and she made her preference quite clear. So you have my full approval.”

Mithra reaches across the table and lays a hand on her friend's. “Thank you, Vivienne.” She glances at Solas. _See?_ If he still holds distrust toward her roommate, he doesn't show it and goes back to his food.

Mithra withdraws her hand from Vivienne's. “Since we're all together, there's something I wanted to discuss.” They both give her their attention. “Next term, I'd like to… travel to Tevinter.”

They blink and glance at each other as though uncertain they heard correctly. Vivienne gives a nervous laugh. “Tevinter?”

“ _Why?_ ” Solas insists. The color has drained from his face.

“I've been thinking about it a lot.” She looks between the two of them and gasps Solas' hand because he's turning paler by the second. “The University is an amazing institute of knowledge. But if I truly want to uncover what my people have lost, Tevinter is where I need go. My studies indicate that much of my people's culture was integrated into theirs when they took over the region.”

“My dear.” Vivienne's voice is low and slow. “Tevinter isn't known for its friendliness to the rest of Thedas.”

“I've already spoken with Dr. Pentagast. She's certain there are visas or exchange programs to which I can apply–”

“Getting _into_ the country isn't the problem!” Solas shouts, color returning to his cheeks as he remembers to breathe.

Vivienne gives him a glance, then turns back to Mithra. “I'm afraid I have to agree. You may be a mage, but Tevinter isn't kind to elves. Even your people avoid the area.”

“I know.” She squeezes Solas' hand again and reaches for Vivienne's. These two are the most important people in her life, and she needs them to understand. “But when I became First to my clan, I made a promise to preserve my people's culture. I left because I felt I could better serve my people abroad. And now I know where I need to be.”

She takes a breath. “It might be impossible, and if it's not, it will certainly be dangerous. I need you to know that I don't do this lightly, and that… even if you don't understand, I need to know I can still count on you.”

Vivienne squeezes her hand and smiles. “Of course, darling.”

She looks to Solas. His face has gone from white to green. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

He stands. “Excuse me.”

A few moments later, they hear the inevitable expulsion of stomach contents into the toilet.

 

* * *

 

“Are you all right?” she asks Solas when they step outside the apartment.

Vivienne boxed up the leftover hors d'oeuvres for him to take home. He holds them in one hand.

He shakes his head. “No, I'm really not. You know what they'd do to you there?”

“If I have paperwork, if I'm part of an established program–”

He shakes his head again. “Paperwork can be lost. People can be go missing, especially an elf, especially in a country where...”

His eyes sweep over her face, and her fingers trail across the raised skin of the vallaslin on her cheek. _Slave markings._

“I'm sure Dr. Pentaghast will do all she can,” he continues. “But if something happens to you… there are few resources she can command to…”

She understands his concern. She's thought about it herself. But this is something she has to do. “There's still time.” She takes his hand. “I have the semester to finish. By the end of term, I'll see what Dr. Pentaghast recommends. If it's too dangerous–”

“Is there a chance you won't go?”

Her stomach knots at the hope in his voice. “This is important to me, Solas. If I can't go next term… I'm going to keep trying.”

He nods and sighs. “I knew you'd say that... Give me some time to wrap my head around it.”

“Of course.” She squeezes his hand. “Take all the time you need.”

He doesn't say anything, and the sad, strangled look on his face hurts her so much that she kisses him in an attempt to remind him that she's still with him. But he doesn't kiss her back.

When she pulls away, he brushes his fingertips against her cheek. A faint resemblance of a smile stretches his lips.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he says.

Then he gets in his car and leaves.

 

* * *

 

She sits cross legged on Solas' bed. He sits across from her, books, papers, and notebooks scattered between them as they work on their respective research. They still haven't found the perfect system to studying together without distractions. At one point, Solas pulls one of his paintings off the wall and examines it in reference to a passage in one of his books.

“Tell me about it,” she suggests.

He smiles and begins the tale of the ruins. His roommate interrupts with a knock on the door.

“Just wanted to meet the girlfriend before you snuck her out again,” says Dorian, coming into the room. He crosses to the bed and takes Mithra's hand. “Dorian Pavis. Pleasure to meet you.” He kisses the back of her hand.

Mithra smiles. “Charmed.”

“You see?” Dorian says to his roommate. “Everyone loves me.”

Solas shakes his head but says nothing.

“Do come over more often,” Dorian tells her as he turns to leave. “It's about time someone came around to brighten sourpuss' mood.”

Solas sticks his tongue out at Dorian behind his back.

Mithra can't contain her giggles once he's gone. “He seems really nice.”

“We don't have much in common,” Solas admits.

“Two mages don't have anything to talk about?”

“An elven and a _Tevinter_ mage.”

Mithra's eyes widen.

“Not like that!” Solas hurries. “He's quite radical as far as the mentality of his home country is concerned.”

“But he might have some ideas about–” She shoves her book from her lap, prepared to leap from the bed.

But Solas grabs her wrist. “Mithra.”

She turns to him, and her excitement falters at the heartbroken look on his face. “You're still not okay with it.”

He drops his gaze to his knees. “I don't know if 'okay' is the right word.” When he raises his eyes, they go to the map on his wall.

Mithra turns her attention to it as well, noting the few pins that dot the expanse of Tevinter. “Would you visit those places?”

He shakes his head. “I sincerely hoped not to have to.”

She slides off the bed to examine the map. Tevinter is nothing compared to the many more pins that dot the far reaches of Thedas. “What if… we went to one of these places instead?”

He cocks his head. “We?”

She nods. “You and me… searching for the ancient elves.”

A beat passes. Two. His expression is unchanged, but something is going on behind his eyes. “They might not even be out there.”

She gestures at the bed. “You wouldn't be searching if you didn't think there was a chance.”

“Of course there's a _chance_ ,” he says, “but…” He turns away from her to gaze at the mess in front of him. “What about your education?”

“I told you. I'm only here to restore what my people lost. If there are better places to look–”

He jabs a figure at the map. “There's nothing to indicate those are better.”

“But if there's ancient elves–”

He climbs to his knees. “And what if there isn't? What if we spend months – years – exploring the wilderness and have nothing to show for it?” He slides off the bed to stand in front of her. “Do you think your contacts at the University will still be here for you? Do you think you won't resent the days and nights wandering around the forests–?”

“Solas, I'm Dalish. We live in the forest.”

He shakes his head. His voice rises. “You've lived in a _clan!_ In a family, with roles and structure and support. You've never done it on your own, alone, not knowing where your next meal is coming from or who you can trust.”

She lays a hand on his shoulder. “We won't be alone. We'll have each other.”

He stares at her. “And you think that makes all the difference?”

“Of course it does.”

He turns around completely, facing away from her.

She lays her hand on his shoulder again. “Solas–”

“I can't do this.” His voice shakes.

She gives his shoulder a squeeze. She's pushed him too hard. “I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything, okay? We can talk about it later.”

“No.” He turns to face her. “I can't do _this_.”

She stares at him, confused. She opens her mouth to tell him she doesn't understand, then nearly loses her footing. “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

He pulls his eyes from hers, his gaze falling over her papers and books on the bed. “I think you should go.” There's water in his voice, and when he takes a breath, he sniffles.

“Solas–”

He turns, putting his back to her again. “You should go.” This time, his voice is strong and cold.

She chokes back her own tears, trying to imitate his steely demeanor. “Fine.” She picks up her backpack and scoops papers and books into it, not paying attention to what items are hers or his. Hot tears blur her vision as she slings the bag over her shoulder and flees down the hall.

She apologizes to Dorian as she runs into him and then hurries out the door.

 

* * *

 

She doesn't know how she drives herself home. Bawling and driving hardly go well together. But she makes it without incident and falls into a sobbing mess on the floor the instant she closes the door behind her. Vivienne comes to her, holds her in her arms, listens to her cry, then helps her to her feet and a glass of wine.

She cancels Varric's roleplay session that weekend. She's not certain she can survive being in the same room with Solas. And when she sees him a few days later in the hall, it's like a fist clenches around her heart.

“Solas!”

He looks up at her. His are the saddest eyes she's ever seen.

She crosses the space to meet him. “I'm sorry. I…” Part of her wishes she could take it all back, that she never considered Tevinter or the ancient elves. But she knows she can't apologize for who she is or what she wants. She just wishes he could have wanted the same things with her. “I hope… I hope we can still be friends.”

He bites his lip and turns away from her. “I… I don't think I can do that.”

“Solas–”

“I'm sorry.” He brushes passed her toward the classrooms.

She stands frozen in the hall, not knowing whether to scream or cry. One of the most amazing people she's ever met, and he wants nothing to do with her. 

She abandons her studies, returns to her car in the parking lot, and texts Vivienne to please come get her and take her home.


	5. Chapter 5

Solas doesn't go to his classes. After running into Mithra in the hall, he heads straight home where he collapses face forward onto his bed and doesn't move. He'd be content to stay there forever till he faded away into nothing. He deserves nothing less.

He's dismayed when he hears the rapping of knuckles against his door frame. He reaches for his pillow and presses it over the back of his head. “I don't want to talk to you, Dorian,” he says into his blankets.

“Well, that's just too bad.” His roommate's footsteps come closer and the pillow is pulled from his clutches. “You let a perfectly fine lady walk out of here in _tears_.” The pillow smacks him in the back of his head. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Solas groans his frustration into the comforter.

Dorian hits him with the pillow again. “Sit up and talk to me.”

Solas does, only because he knows Dorian will never leave him alone. His roommate blanches as he raises his face. He imagines it's red and tear streaked, and he runs his sleeve across his eyes to dry them.

Dorian crosses his arms, Solas' pillow still in his hand. “What happened?”

He looks away from his roommate and chews on his lip. “She wants to go to Tevinter.”

Dorian takes a step back. “Tevinter? Why in all of Thedas–?”

“She wants to recover the lost remnants of our people.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls between them.

“And that's… reason enough to break up with her?”

Solas shakes his head and gestures at the map behind him. “She also wants to help with that.”

Dorian rubs his chin and considers for a moment. “You realize Tevinter is on that map?”

“I wasn't planning on going there!”

Dorian drops his hand to his hip. “You still haven't explained what warranted a break up.”

Solas scoffs and moves to get off the bed “Forget it. You wouldn't understand.”

But Dorian puts a hand on his shoulder and lowers him back to his seat. “You're worried something will happen to her, and you'll be powerless to do anything about it.”

Solas bows his head, unable to look his roommate in the eye.

“You're worried,” Dorian continues. “That she won't take to your hobo-apostate lifestyle. That on the road, she'll discover you're not everything she hoped for.”

He says nothing.

“Did I hit the nail too hard on the head?”

Solas snaps his face up, glaring. “And just what do you want me to do about it?”

“Treat her better.”

Solas maintains eye contact for a moment or two, then looks away. Things aren't that simple.

“Look, I get it.” Dorian, finally lets the pillow in his hand drop to the floor. “You think by causing yourself some pain now, you'll save yourself from more pain later. But that's a bullshit argument, and we're not sparing either of them with it.”

Solas blinks, slowly turning his head to stare at Dorian.

His roommate sighs and leaves the room. He returns a few minutes later with a beer in each hand. He sits on the edge of the bed with Solas and hands him one.

Solas turns the bottle around to read the Tevinter label. Difficult to import, and not a variety his roommate drinks or shares lightly.

“To our wretched souls.” Dorian clinks the neck of his bottle against Solas'. He drinks.

Solas takes a swig and coughs at the unexpectedly strong bitter-sweetness.

“Careful,” Dorian advises. “It's made with blood magic.”

Solas gives a laugh before drinking again.

“You know,” says Dorian. “There's a saying about love… at least, I think it's a saying: All relationships come to an end. Either you break up or one of you dies. Love isn't about escaping pain… it's about accepting it as the cost to something worthwhile.”

Solas doesn't have anything to say to that, so he sips his beer. He has no idea where his roommate found this spontaneous fountain of wisdom.

“So…” he says when neither of them have spoken for a while. “What are we wretched souls going to do about ourselves?”

Dorian slides off the bed. “ _I'm_ going to get smashed and attempt _not_ to drunk call someone. Care to join me?”

So much for the fountain of wisdom. Solas shakes his head.

Dorian shrugs. “Ah, well. More for me, I suppose.”

He leaves the room, and Solas pulls out his phone. His thumb pauses over Mithra's number. He could call her. He _should_. He wants to. But the thought of losing her to Tevinter or the lonely road of his lifestyle twists him up worse than he already is.

If he lost her… if life took her from him in any way than by his own choice…

Maybe he should take Dorian up on his offer and get another drink.

He turns off his phone and shoves it into the deepest reaches of his bookbag.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't pass her in the hall anymore. Instead he leaves the building by the front door and circles around to the door in the back. Ridiculous, yes, but far easier than facing her again. He avoids their favorite places to eat, and he comes home instead of dreaming on the library rooftop.

When the weekend comes around again for another role playing session, Varric texts them with an update on their characters. Fen and Ellana have broken up. Fen vanished without a word, and their characters meet again two years later. This will be the last session.

Solas has a feeling Varric had more planned for them to play out but sped to the end to spare them. Part of him is relieved this may be the last time he gets to spend time with her, and part of him is utterly devastated.

It doesn't really hit him until he parks his car that he knew all along this session was ahead of him. No matter what he did, no matter how much he avoided her, he knew he'd see her again. And now…

He grips the steering wheel with both hands and lays his forehead against it. Tears come to him. He could call it off, tell Varric he can't do it. But the thought only tightens his stomach into knots. He _wants_ to see her again. He wants the chance to tell her goodbye, to bring some closure to all of this instead of having it end the way it did.

He gets out of the car and heads toward the sidewalk. He arrived late on purpose in hopes of avoiding Mithra again. But she must have had the same idea because he finds himself face to face with her, the sidewalk between the two of them.

“Hi,” he says uselessly.

She drops her gaze to the ground. “I'm sorry.”

He stares. “What do you have to apologize for?”

She sniffs and raises her head, her face already red and tear-streaked. “I asked too much of you.”

He shakes his head. “The fault is mine, not yours.”

She lowers her face again. “I wish I believed that.”

He didn't realize it would be like this. He thought she would hate him or at least be angry. It's what he deserved. How could she possibly blame herself for what happened? To feel like _she_ needed to apologize to _him?_

“Mithra…”

She brushes by him. He reaches for her, missing only because she moves too quickly. He lets his hand drop uselessly to his side as she walks away, her shoulders hunched.

Tears roll down his face. He did this to her. He acted to save himself, and in his selfishness he overlooked how it would effect her. That she would carry a burden over how it ended…

His feet plod after her only because he knows he has to. Varric is waiting, and he's not going to drag this out and hurt Mithra further. He dries his eyes before entering Varric's door, makes his way to the table, and takes his seat.

Their characters meet up, and he gives Fen's explanation of why he left the Inquisition and what he's set out to do automatically and without emotion. He can't look at Mithra at all. He just wants to get this over with.

“Look,” Varric interrupts. “We don't have to–”

“No,” Mithra says. “I want to finish this.”

He's heartened by the determination in her voice, and his eyes find hers. Though devoid of tears, her face is still red from crying.

An invisible blade slides into his chest by an inch.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says.

Mithra blinks, crosses her arms and looks away. “It's too late for that.”

He doesn't know whether or not she's still role playing her character.

“So,” Varric prompts. “Fen's admitted he wants to tear down the Veil and effectively destroy the world. What does Ellana want to do?”

“She wants to smack him with the non-lethal end of her staff.”

“Okay...” says Varric. “Um… you could roll–”

“She won't do that,” Mithra amends. “She'll…” She stares at her character sheet in front of her and sighs. “She'll tell him she loves him.”

Her voice breaks at the end, and she clears her throat in an attempt to cover it up. She turns her face away from both of them, but Solas can see the moisture in the corners of her eyes.

The blade slides in by another inch.

“What does Fen do?” Varric asks.

Solas swallows, but he can't take his eyes off of Mithra. He wishes he could wipe those tears away. “He'll... kiss her.”

She looks at him then, and the blade sinks deeper.

“Mithra, I–”

Her gaze hardens, unwavering, still framed by moisture. “Just play the game, Solas.”

“There's still the Anchor,” Varric supplies.

Solas shakes his head, trying to reframe his focus. The best thing he can do for Mithra now is end this quickly. “Fen will remove it, I guess. And then… leave?”

“No.” Mithra turns to Varric. “Ellana's going to try to stop him.”

Solas stares at her. Why would she drag this out?

“She's kinda indisposed,” Varric says.

“But the Anchor's gone,” Mithra tells him. “She's not in any pain.”

Varric gives a wave of his hand. “Go ahead and roll then.”

Mithra rolls.

4.

Varric turns to Solas. “Roll to–” He sighs. “You two really want to play this out?”

Mithra nods, so Solas does too.

“All right, then. Roll.”

They do, taking turns back and forth. Solas rolls a 15, an 18, and a 20.

Mithra rolls a 6 and a 2.

Fen disappears through the eluvian, leaving Ellana alone on the hill.

Solas puts his face in his hands. It's over, in more ways than one.

The legs of Mithra's chair scrape the floor as she stands. Her footsteps fade down the hall. The front door opens and closes. Varric stands and leaves the apartment to join her.

Tears fall from Solas' eyes, pitter-pattering on the table. A sob escapes his throat, and he brings a hand to his mouth to suppress it.

Fen'Harel letting go of the woman he loves because being with her changes too much.

Maybe Varric's right. He based his character a little _too_ literally on himself. And maybe Mithra did as well, fighting so hard to stop the man she couldn't save from walking away.

There's little he can do about it now. He sniffs, dries his eyes on his sleeve, and stands.

He freezes in place when he steps outside to find Mithra and Varric talking further down the sidewalk. She looks at him, then turns back to Varric in an attempt to ignore him. But he doesn't move.

He can't move. He can't walk down the sidewalk, get into his car, and drive away. Because if he does, he'll never see her again. And that thought paralyzes him to the spot.

Mithra looks to him and turns away again. But she when realizes he still hasn't moved, she hesitates and steps forward. Varric reaches out to stop her, but he comes up short.

She stands in front of him and crosses her arms. Her face is hard set.

His mouth is dry, but he finds his voice. “I'm sorry.”

She shakes her head and shrugs. The moisture around her eyes glints in the porch light.

He struggles to speak, opening his mouth and closing it again. She deserves the truth. He can at least give her that. “I was... afraid of losing you.”

Her face softens in a question, and she cocks her head.

He takes a breath and lets it out. “I was afraid of you going to Tevinter, of something happening to you. I was afraid of you joining me on the road and realizing it wasn't what you wanted. I thought... I thought if I chose to let you go, it would be easier, but it's…”

Her eyes widen in slow recognition. She turns her face away from him.

“But it's not,” he finishes, a sob escaping him.

Tears fall from her eyes and she presses a hand to her face in an attempt to stop them. She takes a shaking breath. “You're so stupid.”

He nods. He knows.

“You're _so_ stupid.” She turns back to him.

Tears are running down his face now.

“What are we supposed to do about this?” She wipes at her eyes.

He wants her back. He wants to take her through dreams and ancient places. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let her go. But the fear of giving her everything and losing her still terrifies him. “I don't know.”

She takes a breath and nods. “Maybe we should sleep on it.” She turns to leave.

His hand shoots out and catches her wrist. She turns back to stare at him.

He might not know how to move their relationship forward. But more than anything, he knows what he's terrified of. “ _Please_ don't go.” The tears are flowing faster now. “ _Please_.” He has no right to ask it of her, not after what he's put her through, but he can't just let her walk away.

She glares at him and at the hand on her wrist, and he knows he has no right to hold on to her.

The sobs come to him all at once, and he releases her to brings his hands to his face. He's lost her. He was a coward and the biggest idiot in all of Thedas, and he _lost_ her. There is no saving him now from his stupid mistakes.

But her arms come around him, and her hair is in his face. And he cries harder. His knees weaken under him, and she continues to hold on to him as they kneel on the ground.

He doesn't hear Varric announce he's going for a walk. She has to explain to him later that it happened.

“I'm sorry,” he cries into her jacket. He clings to her, clutches at her, needing to feel her, to know she's still there and hasn't left. “I'm sorry.”

“Solas...”

He sobs uncontrollably into her shoulder. He can't stop.

She kisses him above the ear, then lower at his cheek. When he raises his head for air, she catches the corner of his mouth. He's not certain which of them turns, their lips coming together, and then again, salt falling on their tongues.

When they part, they lay their foreheads together. Tears continue to roll down his face. She lays a hand against his cheek, caressing it with her thumb. Slowly, he breathes and regains control of himself.

“Are you all right?” she asks when he opens his eyes.

He's not. He's really not. “I should be asking you that question.”

“I'm… confused.” she says.

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He caresses her cheek, brushing away the tears that lay there. “I didn't want to hurt you.”

She wraps her fingers around his. “But you did.”

And it still hurts. He can see it in her eyes.

“If I can…” he tries. “If there's anyway…” He wishes he could take it back or make it up to her somehow.

She squeezes his hand. “We could try to work it out... if you're willing.”

“If the two of you are going to be talking for a while,” says Varric, coming up behind them. “And you'd rather not sit on the ground all night, I do have a spare room.”

They look to each other.

Solas didn't think until that moment how uncomfortable his knees are. “Would you…?”

"Yeah." Mithra nods. "I think... we should probably do that.”

She takes his hand to help pull him up, but once he's on his feet he doesn't let go of it. They walk inside to the spare room that offers enough space for a bed and a dresser but no other furniture. They sit next to each other on the bed, their feet dangling a few inches from the floor.

“So what do we do about this?” she asks him.

He's still holding her hand. “I don't know.”

“You said that already.”

He takes a breath, mulling it through. “Would you… take me back? After all I've… after I've been such a terrible boyfriend?”

She caresses his hand with her thumb but doesn't answer. “Are you going to break up with me again if I get approval to travel to Tevinter?”

He wants to promise her he won't. He doesn't believe he could do such a stupid thing twice, but that terror in him is still very real. He can feel it simmering even now just beneath the surface.

He squeezes her hand and thinks it over carefully. “Mithra, I can't promise I won't act like a complete idiot. But if you continue to be gracious with me, I can promise to keep working on it.” He considers further. “And if you would call me out on it… if I ever do anything stupid like this again… that could help.”

She gives a laugh and a smile. “I think can do that.”

"Yeah?" he says.

She nods. "Yes."

He stares at her, marveling at his own stupidity and her willingness to give him another chance. "Can I... kiss you?"

She hesitates but nods, and he presses his lips to hers.

He doesn't deserve her, and he knows he never will. He's broken, but if she's willing to stand by him, he's willing to try to put his own pieces back together. 

When they part, she looks away from him, seeming embarrassed or unsure.

He's worried he's asked too much of her too soon. “I'm sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Not, it's okay. I'm just…”

He squeezes her hand, letting her know she doesn't have to explain.

She smiles at him. “I should probably be getting home.” She slides off the bed.

“Would you-?” He shakes his head, stopping himself. "You should go."

She stares at him.

He sighs. "I was going to ask you to stay, but if you need to go home you should."

He can see the thoughts spinning her in her head. She stands on a precipice, unsure if this is all going to end in heartache or not.

He steps to her and reaches out a hand to comfort her. Her face twists as she omits a sob, and he pulls her to him. "I'm sorry."

He isn't sure how long they stand like that, with her clutching him and crying into his shoulder, though he spends it cursing himself for putting her through this. Eventually, she steps away, wiping at her face. "I'll stay."

"You're sure? You don't have to."

She shakes her head. "I want to." She pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Just let me let Vivienne know where I am.”

Solas cringes as she leaves the room. He can only imagine what Vivienne will have in store for him after this.

He kicks off his shoes and drops his jacket on the floor. A few minutes later, Mithra joins him, removing her own shoes and jacket and cuddling up to him on the bed.

“Does she hate my guts?” he asks as he folds his arms around her.

“She didn't answer. I left her a voicemail.”

“Ah.”

“I'm sure you'll face her wrath later.”

He gives a nervous laugh.

Mithra kisses him on the nose, then settles her head on his arm.

“I love you,” he tells her after some time has passed and sleep starts to take him. “I never stopped.”

“I know." She doesn't tell him she loves him back, but he hears it just the same.


End file.
